Power Woman

By Lee Jorgenson

Tami Powers was overwhelmed, depressed,

and trying desperately to get her feet back on the ground. 

To cope, she dug deep into her Idaho-farm-girl roots and started getting up at four-thirty in the morning and running-and running some more. Over ti

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lee Jorgenson
• Release date: Apr 26, 2024
• ISBN: 9781952943409

Lee Jorgenson

Lee Jorgenson's second book, LPGA Minus One, was one of three nominees for best new work of fiction in the State of Washington. He grew up in Orange County, California, attended Northern Arizona University, served a tour of duty with the 199th Light Infantry Brigade in Vietnam, and now resides in Gig Harbor, Washington. After founding and managing his restaurant and catering company for over thirty years, he is retired and enjoys the cinema, reading, writing, cooking, fishing, and is an avid golfer.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Tami Powers was up to her ears in steamy diapers and living on the ragged edge of sleeplessness. A young mother and caregiver to her four babies, she was working full time from home as an accountant, attending a CPA exam prep group two nights a week, and married to an absentee (going to graduate school, working nights) husband. She was overwhelmed, deeply depressed, and trying desperately to get her feet back on the ground. So, she dug deep into her Idaho farm girl roots and started getting up at four-thirty in the morning and running. And running some more.

Her daily jogs invigorated her and restarted her life. Women would say, You must be so exhausted, dear.

To which Tami would reply, I’ve never felt better, more alive in my life. She fell in love with running to the degree of extending her distances and began running marathon races. Over time, she ran close to one hundred marathons, in all fifty states, and suddenly she was gifted with Super Powers.

From Los Angeles to NYC, in times of conflict and danger, she developed the ability to react in nano time, overcoming insurmountable odds and dangerous, ugly situations. Now, she not only kicks ass on numerous underworld gangsters, street thugs, and escaped parolees, but she also rescues babies and battles corporate intrigue, all while training to become an elite nationally competitive runner, and inadvertently establishing herself as a national network media sensation.

Throughout all the adventures, a strong family identity is her sustaining force. She supports her community, and founds and funds a philanthropic foundation. She trains and qualifies as a marathon runner for the Universal Games and is invited to work with the Diplomatic Security Service using her talents to help protect our American athletes at the games.

Author’s Note: Tami Powers’ character is based on the real-life adventures of Tami Christensen, a remarkable and gifted woman who resides in Gig Harbor, Washington and Coeur d’Alene, Idaho.

CHAPTER

1

Three cattle rustlers, two of them convicted felons, the other an escaped parolee, sat on horseback under ten-gallon hats, staring down their mountain trail into a valley of opportunity below. They were hungry, thirsty, horny, trail weary, and, to their surprise, a gathering was happening on the barren, high desert floor they called home.

Spud licked his chops, turned to Puck and Skunk and blurted, Well, I’ll be damned, boys! It’s a drunkard’s dream, right in our own backyard. Let’s git on down there and have us some fun. His two sidekicks could find nothing to disagree with (as usual), so three sets of spurs jangled as they poked the sides of their horse’s bellies and started sidestepping down the trail.

The delicious aroma of the BBQ smoker was wafting about, and after an austere three months of working cattle, eating beans and living rough in the eastern foothills, a hot meal and some female companionship gave all the boys a sense of urgency.

Soon they were loping along, and Spud ran a crusty bandana over his perspiring brow while squinting at the scene in front of him. He saw no security types, no guard dogs, and no other possible bad asses—and that appealed to him even more.

Our movie shoot had gone well. We were wrapping up production after three weeks of nonstop filming, and the July weather in Southern Utah had been spectacular. The days were long and hot, and the nighttime skies were inky black and plastered with stars. Our shoot was situated on the back side of Zion National Park, remote, but beautifully scenic wilderness to everyone.

We were filming a medium budget oater, and apparently the environment had inspired us to the extent that our British director, Malcolm Sparrow, declared we would complete filming late on Friday afternoon. The end of shooting, ahead of schedule and within budget meant a party on Saturday. A real cast party, for many of us our first.

The large, military-style tents we were billeted in were jumping with anticipation for our whoop-de-do. There were two tents, one for each sex, but there was no shortage of fraternizing between the two.

Our movie set consisted of a dusty town square, with facades of a General Store, Sheriff’s and Telegraph Offices, Saloon, etc. The compound was surrounded by a barbed wire fence and had an entrance gate on the east side. Back behind the town square was all the logistical stuff, i.e. horse coral, maintenance/storage tents, water truck, showers, camp kitchen, generators, and more tents for editing, production and costumes. Our rustic digs may have been part of Malcolm’s decision to throw a party. Whatever. We were a motley cast, a mixture of novices, mostly extras, with a few career leads thrown in. We were living in a boot camp and having the time of our lives.

Malcolm had sent the caterers off to St. George the previous day for provisions, and the festivities were set to kick off at three on Saturday afternoon. Audio was doing music for us, personnel had some activities lined up, and there was rumored to be a trick rider/roper dude show up for some authentic Western entertainment. Nobody cared; all we wanted to do was drink margaritas, and stuff ourselves at the buffet. After dark, Malcolm had promised to show some unedited cuts of our flick on an outdoor screen.

Two-thirty on Saturday rolled around and catering opened early. Malcolm was busy working on something in his private tent. Most of the support type older dudes had gone into town on their own. Our well-liked CPA Tami Powers had taken off on one of her daily twenty-mile runs. She preferred going out early in the morning, but Malcolm needed some wrap up financial reports. So, she waited around and worked up a balance sheet and P & L’s before jogging out a little after one. Rumor had it she’d run in almost a hundred marathons. She was a little older than most of us, was very friendly and although married, the guys thought she was still hot.

Soon after catering rang the cow bell, most of the cast was there in the public square, hanging out, cocktail in hand, and starting to nosh. There was the aroma of marijuana and barbeque floating about, and we all were looking forward to a capital afternoon and evening.

To everyone’s surprise, our isolated party scene was interrupted half an hour later by three hairy, desperado looking dudes riding into the compound and dismounting just past the bar. They let their reins dangle to the ground, and the horses looked like they were too tired to move anyway. We erroneously assumed they were the trick ropers Malcolm had hired. After dismounting, all three of them sauntered over to the food table and began helping themselves. And jeez, help themselves they did, each one of ’em taking enough to feed a small army. Then they strutted over to the bar and ordered Todd the barman to get some water for their horses and bring them a bottle of whiskey.

I don’t have any whiskey, just margaritas, and I don’t water horses. Who are you guys anyway?

The mangy bearded dude called Spud, narrowed his eyes and gave Todd a mean look, then shocked everyone by pulling a .45 revolver out of one of his holsters. He pointed it at Todd and told him to get his ass around from behind the bar. Todd was dumbfounded, but when a bullet whizzed past his ear, he had little choice but to oblige.

Drop your pants for the ladies, and start spinning around real pretty, Spud told him.

Todd just stood there, staring at the grungy stranger, and finally said, No way in hell, man.

This made Spud hopping mad, and he aimed his gun and shot Todd right in the foot.

Spud might as well have set a cannon off. Todd howled in agony, and crumpled to the ground while everyone began to scream and scramble around. Sidekick Puck fired a couple more shots in the air and shouted for everyone to get their asses down on the ground. Then the rednecks grabbed their plates and stomped over toward the fire pit and the half ring of Adirondack chairs surrounding it. Spud put his plate down and grabbed Amanda, our lead actress by the hair. He pulled her up off the ground, then fired some more shots.

Standing there for a minute, he looked around, spit some tobacco juice on the ground, and while holding a shaking Amanda bellowed at us, y’all keep your dumb asses face down in the dirt. And if any of youse tries anything stupid, her ass is grass!

We rolled over as soon as his little speech was finished, and he just stood there, staring out over all of us lying flat on our bellies. Snickering, he called out to Skunk while jerking his head toward the bar. His partner got up, walked over and grabbed a couple bottles of tequila. On his way back to the chairs he kicked the bartender in the leg, told him to stop whining. Then he reached down, and grabbed our makeup woman, also by the hair of her head.

Git up, honey, yer comin’ with me.

He slouched down in a camp chair, and pulled Linda onto his lap like Amanda was being forced to do with Spud. The boys stuffed their faces, threw the plates at the firepit and turned their attention to the women and the liquor. Puck broke a seal, cracked a bottle open, sucked in a long pull, and handed it off. Then he began to paw Linda enough to start her shrieking at him; he responded by slapping her face hard and ripping open the front of her blouse.

The three dirtbags liked that a lot, and just for fun whizzed a few more shots over us. One of their bullets hit the coffee urn, and hot, brown liquid began to spray around. All in all, it was a very weird scene, with about forty of us laying prone, and Amanda and Linda staring down the barrel of real guns in real time.

They were, of course, traumatized, and now Spud got the bright idea that the girls should take off more of their clothes and entertain them with some table dances. Amanda told him to piss off, so he picks up his .45, aims carefully, and shoots the bartender in other foot. Looking back at Amanda, he pushed her off his lap while ripping the front of her summer dress apart, and there she stood in a set of matching pink Etsy lingerie.

The young women, humiliated, terrified and fearing for their lives tried to resist, when in a diabolical irony, the rockabilly music audio had set up kicked in and engaged remotely. Now the boys were tapping their toes and pointing guns at the girls, who were in their underwear and being forced to begin their sickly twisted dances for our uninvited guests. The three goons sat and glugged raw liquor while watching the girls gyrate. Soon their eyes began to glaze over, but that didn’t stop Spud from grabbing Amanda and jerking her back onto his tented lap as her brassiere fell to the ground.

Every now and then one of them kept firing off a round. A couple of the women had crawled over to the bartender and were trying to minister to him. No one else was moving much, afraid of drawing any attention and getting their own feet shot off. Also, it was turning uglier with the rednecks, who by now had grabbed a couple more females from close by and were getting drunker and raunchier by the minute. Finally, Spud told his sidekicks, It’s gettin’ late, boys. Pick which woman you want to take along; we gotta head out afore dark.

Just north of our compound, Tami Powers, a superb athlete, who had in fact run almost one hundred full marathons followed her downward sloping trail around to the right. As she began her descent back into camp, she was scanning the terrain carefully having heard a lot of loud explosions in the last hour. Besides violating the quiet solitude of her mountain run, she knew Malcolm hadn’t sprung for any fireworks at the party and fearing trouble, had herself on hyper alert.

Rounding the last angled curve on the trail, she gazed down at what was supposed to be a social gathering and was shocked to the core when she saw the crew all sprawled in the dirt, and three grungy strangers pawing at her women friends. A purple rage welled powerfully inside her chest, and she jogged in place for a few seconds to gather herself and survey the situation.

Could any four people have been experiencing the polar opposites of consciousness than Tami and the three degenerate bullies she was observing? Tami: here now, bursting with intense energy, her muscles flexed but loose, her mind taunt and ready for action. The boys: sated, approaching mindless drunkenness, distracted, their vision becoming blurrier. Would they even see her coming?

Solidly centered and with deadly purpose, Tami ratcheted up to a sprint, then hurdled the low fence at the camp’s perimeter. In no more than four or five giant strides, covering some two hundred yards, avoiding and dodging our prone bodies, she came to a halt standing directly between number one and number two hillbilly. They both looked up dumbly, and Spud said, hey babe, you is good lookin’. He sat gazing at a set of long, tanned, athletic legs in running shorts and a tank top, whose mop of brunette hair was still whirling and whose green eyes flashed down on him.

That was all he got out of his mouth, as Tami reached down, striking like a cobra, and knocked their hats off. In the same motion she grabbed scuzzy beard number one and scuzzy beard number two, one in each hand, and snapped their heads together like she was cracking a couple of walnuts. The thud of bone-on-bone would have been sickening if it wasn’t for these two dirt bags, and both Spud and Skunk slumped into unconsciousness.

This motivated Puck to sober up rather quickly, he dropped a bottle of Hornitos on the ground and attempted to simultaneously get up while pawing at his pistol belt. Tami sidestepped in front of him, waiting until he was standing semi erect and then delivered a full frontal and spectacularly accurate kick to his groin. Puck groaned, and as he leaned forward in pain, Tami blasted him with an elbow smash to the back of his neck. He toppled forward to the ground, where Tami kicked him in the temple. Ole Pucker was dead quiet after that.

Everybody was still in shock, and half the cast and crew had yet to realize they were now liberated until Tami called out, parties over kids, you can get up now. Amanda and Linda grabbed Tami in a bear hug while sobbing hysterically. Tami embraced them tenderly and finally suggested they go back to the women’s tent, get some clothes on, and try to collect themselves. Amanda snatched her summer frock and bra off the ground, covering herself as she turned to leave, but not before spitting in Spud’s ashen face. Tami sent someone off for duct tape, and she and two or three of the guys secured our unconscious outlaws hand and foot.

The camp nurse was kneeling, tending to Todd. Malcolm had heard all the commotion from his executive tent and had been standing quietly in the shadows watching throughout. He emerged quickly out to the firepit and began to take charge. Tami ignored him, and as the compound was so remote there was no cell phone coverage, sent him off in the Jeep Cherokee to get the Sheriff and an ambulance. The cast was now milling about in disbelief, murmuring quietly, the females were livid, not to mention everyone else. Some of the girls went back to the tent to be with Amanda and Linda. Tami looked around surveying the scene, kicked Puck in the side one more time, took a deep breath, and exhaled. Feeling everything was under control, she calmly walked over behind the bar and poured herself a margarita.

Malcolm meekly rode off in the Cherokee, and all he could think about was the extraordinary events that had just occurred. First, the astonishing invasion by the three rednecks, their obnoxious, abusive behavior, and the ruination of his well-planned (at no small expense) party. But most of all, the superhuman response he had witnessed of Tami springing onto the scene. Her athletic figure literally bounding, vaulting in like some kind of dervish, rescuing everyone, and preventing who knows what other type of carnage.

He quickly reviewed his own behavior to make sure he could not be accused of any malfeasance or negligence. One can’t be too careful anymore he knew all too well, and wasn’t it the producer’s responsibility to have hired security for the set while they were shooting? Christ, he thought, I can’t do everything. He felt assured that he could defer any liability away from himself, and therefore, was at no personal or professional risk. Then his mind turned again to this afternoon’s other worldly action, and he continued to be awe struck by what had just happened.

How was it vaguely, remotely, conceptually possible that any human being, let alone a slender woman in tennis shoes, could just leap some forty feet at a time, six to eight feet off the ground, land light as a feather on the balls of her feet, and into the heart of a very dangerous confrontation? Then immediately and authoritatively take control of the situation by singlehandedly disarming and dispatching the criminals. All while being seriously outnumbered and unarmed.

That woman is a real-time, real-life heroine, he said aloud to himself.

She had saved the cast and crew, especially the females from brutal horrors, and had done it all with her bare hands, feet, and one elbow—a situation so dangerous that he himself, a grown man, had withdrawn and stood watching from the sidelines. Did she see me? he mused aloud. Probably not, and thank God I had the mental clarity to take out my phone and film the entire episode.

His mind continued to churn. Wasn’t this going to bring him a pretty penny when he sold it to the networks! No one had ever seen anything like this in real life, real time. Tami was a super woman, a unique heroine, and he had it all on film. He bounced down the rutted road until he hit Highway Nine, turned right, and headed for civilization.

He would alert the Sheriff, then the local media, as soon as he could get a cell signal. He would let the local news and TV affiliate get out the initial reports, then he would start to contact the big boys. All of them, New York, LA, Chicago, Houston would be competing for his video. Let ’em get to it, he said to himself. I’m sittin’ on a gold mine here.

He continued to refine his thoughts while driving along. Everyone needs to be notified, then I should get back to camp and play greeter, create a presence. As soon as they’re gone, I will sit Tami down under the guise of a post-incident follow-up interview. Convince her the producers want it for the insurance people. If I can get that I will not only have live footage of the actual confrontation, but also an in-depth exclusive interview with the heroine herself. Double my damn money!

CHAPTER

2

Malcolm got as far as the small town of Hurricane and pulled into the local Police Station. He burst into the foyer and shouted that there had been a shooting and numerous assaults just north of the national park. He was so loud and strident the sleepy dispatcher almost fell out of her padded office chair.

Calm down, sir, she was finally able to blurt out. Exactly where and when did this happen?

We’re shooting a movie just north of Zion. It’s about fifteen miles up an access road off Route Nine. Three guys busted in on our camp as we were starting our wrap party. They shot up my bartender, attacked several of our women, and stole some of our food and booze before we were able to subdue them. Where’s the Chief of Police? We’ve gotta get back out there!

Again, please calm down, I have already radioed him. He’s on his way to the station right now. Why don’t you start from the beginning and tell me exactly what happened?

Are you kidding, lady? Then do it all over again when the Chief gets here? Where the hell is he anyway?

Five minutes later, Bill Marks, Hurricane’s Chief Constable, strode into the station house, and stared at a wild-eyed Malcolm Sparrow.

Bill got to work immediately. State your name, sir.

Malcolm Sparrow. I am directing a movie which was permitted by the Utah Film Commission’s Satellite Office in Saint George. Our set is located just north of the east end of Zion National Park. We were proceeding with our wrap party today, when three desperate men rode into our set, and began to cause trouble. They stole our food and demanded whiskey from my bartender. When he said he didn’t have any, they shot him in both feet. Then they grabbed some of my Tequila, started getting drunk, and accosted our women. They were fondling them and acting in a very disgusting manner when we were able to disarm them and render them unconscious.

Bill looked at Malcolm’s slight frame and thin wrists, then asked, And how’d you do that, sir?

One of my people surprised them, and she was able to knock them all out. We’ve got them secured now, and you need to come out arrest them right away!

She?

Yes sir, our accountant, Tami Powers.

Okay Malcolm, you wait here, I’m going to call my deputy in, and we will follow you back out there.

Well, hurry it up, would ya? We should get back out before dark, and you should also call animal control because they rode in on three horses, and we have enough to do taking care of our own stock.

Again, Bill cocked his head before speaking and looked closely at Malcolm Sparrow. Don’t interfere with my investigation, sir. Do you understand me?

Sure, sure, and we also need an ambulance for the shooting victim. I would call out there and see how everyone is doing, but there is no cell service.

Chief Marks picked up his radio and called out to his deputy on a suspected 76-5-103 for aggravated assault telling him to report to headquarters ASAP. Then he radioed the EMTs and told Malcolm to go wait in his car, and they would follow him out to the camp site.

A bored weekend reporter for the Saint George Sentinel had her feet up on the public desk in the deserted newspaper office reading a John Grisham novel, when her radio monitor began to crackle. A 76-5-103 is a major event, so she jumped up, grabbed her worksheets and cell phone, and headed out to the car.

Malcolm returned to the Cherokee, sat down, and immediately took out his phone and googled the local newspaper. He got the weekend hotline of the Sentinel and was able to hook up with the reporter as she was leaving for Hurricane. He introduced himself and began to brief her on the situation.

See if you can stall the cops until I get there. I’m only about ten minutes away, and I can follow you to the site.

Will do, Malcolm replied. I am at the police station in Hurricane right now.

While Bill Marks was waiting for his deputy to arrive, he thought it wise to call in a sheriff’s unit from St. George for back up. Then went in and put on his bulletproof vest, loaded up extra ammo, and went back to the outer office to wait for everyone.

It took about half an hour to assemble the troops, but soon enough they were ready to convoy out to Malcolm’s camp. Bill was annoyed to see the Sentinel reporter show up, but there was little he could do about that. He assigned a volunteer deputy to drive Malcolm’s Jeep to make faster time, and they pulled out with sirens blazing.

It took another half hour to get to the camp, and Malcolm was the first to jump out as soon as they arrived. He rushed over to Tami, who was parked in a camp chair next to Amanda and Linda, sitting guard over their prisoners. He attempted to give her a hug, which she brushed off, so he just stood there rather awkwardly.

We are all safe now, he gushed.

Tami and the ladies ignored him and got up out of their chairs to deal with everyone. Most of the crew were standing around talking, a few drinking; the three hooligans were still lying on the ground, unconscious.

The cops were a little cautious at first, but when they saw that the situation was under control they began to relax. Approaching Tami, and eyeballing her prisoners, Bill sent his deputy off to get a bucket of water. When he returned, Bill doused the thugs, and they began to stir back to the living. Jessica Landry from the Sentinel was busy taking pictures in the now shadowy light.

What happened here? Bill asked Tami. She explained what was going on, and when Bill asked her how the outlaws were subdued, she paused long enough, unsure of just what to say, for Malcolm to butt in.

This young woman singlehandedly subdued these criminals, he said. Jessica had her cell phone out, and it was absolutely running on video.

I just caught them by surprise, was all Tami would say being intentionally vague, which allowed Malcolm to continue babbling.

She strode in here, grabbed those two guys, and banged their heads together, knocking them out. Then when the other guy started to get up and come to the defense of his buddies, she knocked him out too. She was magnificent!

Are there any other witnesses here to the actual events that occurred today? Bill asked.

Amanda and Linda were now dressed in jeans and tees and couldn’t wait to corroborate Malcolm’s story. We were just starting to get our wrap party going, when these three @#$%^&*’s came in here and started all this trouble. That guy shot Todd in both feet, pointing to Spud. Then they grabbed us and started molesting us and were groping us all over. It was terrible. Tami came and rescued us just in time, because they were talking about taking three of us women away with them. Tami basically jumped up in their faces and kicked their asses! She saved all of us.

All right, everything seems secure here now, Bill Marks said. "We are taking these three perps back to town and booking them. EMTs are taking your bartender to the hospital for the